


Life Cycle of a Fire

by WatanabeMaya



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:11:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatanabeMaya/pseuds/WatanabeMaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was his time,” he says with a chuckle and the saddest of smiles, looking worn, weary, and so overwhelmingly old. And Elizabeta only watches, pondering over the concept of human lives, the brevity of it all, and why it was so that some people’s times were significantly so much shorter than others. | the dissolution of the state of Prussia in 1947. platonic!PruHun</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zero Hour

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really know what happened but somehow i managed to come up with a fic while snacking on some avocado ice cream late at night HAHAHA this is going to be a twoshot and i'm nearly done with the second half of this so expect it to be uploaded/updated soon! :D it's definitely not perfect, but hey, for something pretty quick i'm kinda happy with how it turned out even if this isn't exactly a happy story.
> 
> premise: this fic tackles the dissolution of prussia back in 1947, featuring the platonic!love relationship of gilbert and elizabeta
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own hetalia. boo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zero Hour – The Beginning; The Moment of Truth

_Zero Hour – The Beginning; The Moment of Truth_

-x-x-

"It was an honor to serve you."

His words echo through the air as the door clicks shut, and the man leaves the conference room with a brisk pace in his step, leaving behind the officials who stood in his wake, not even bothering to gesture a valediction or a bid farewell to their former representative. The patter of his shoes, the squeak of leather, is loud against the hollow of marble, and it is enough to call the attention of the woman who stands waiting in the hallway.

"Hey, Hungary," he says with a lopsided grin, hoping to assuage her apprehensions, expression strained to the point of a grimace.

"Prussia-!"

"Don't, Liz." He stops, stares, then says it all over again, "Please don't."

There are too many thoughts. Too many words. She can't think. She can't concentrate.

_Why?_

_No._

_Stop._

_Please._

_Make it stop._

"It's Gilbert now."

And all of a sudden, the lights are too bright, the noises too loud, and the rest of the world is just too quiet.

-x-x-

It takes three weeks before she musters the courage to visit him again; she travels by foot and by the time she makes it to his street, they are on the brink of twilight. Elizabeta is all patient knocks and a solitary buzz of the sporadically working doorbell that rests on the front porch of the humble abode that is the Beilschmidt residence.

" _Wer ist da_?" a small voice inquires.

"Hey, Gil. It's me," she answers back, shifting her weight on the balls of her feet. Her voice is tinny, hesitant, and slightly hoarse, even – very much unlike her usual self.

When the albino opens the door to meet her, she catches sight of the bags underneath his red-rimmed eyes. And his hair – strands of silvers and greys and whites meshing together into a glimmer that she cannot fathom to name – bathed in the dim glow of the waning sunlight, dyed in a hue that is born only from age and the vastness of experience.

He is thin - _frighteningly so_  - Elizabeta notes as her emerald eyes trace over his figure, looking worn, weary, and so overwhelmingly  _old._

 _"_ Liz?" he blurts out, surprised. It's strange how he still sounds so young – much younger, even, than he was before. Stranger still, Hungary thinks, is the memory of him wielding a sword by her side, claiming victory after victory in the name of the Teutonic Knights, when Hungary is forced to face him as he is now. Gone was the alto of the brave man she once knew, replaced by the tenor of a young boy who seemed to still be at a loss for words.

Elizabeta, on the other hand, is a jumble of too many:  _I wish I could be there for you._   _I wish I could be there with you._   _If I could ask the gods to turn back time, I would beg to be by your side._

For the knight needs his lady this time, she reasons to herself as she casts off the role of the damsel and accepts the pale hand that Gilbert offers as he invites her inside.

-x-x-

"Does your brother know about this?"

"Hm?"

"Germany," she clarifies. "Does Germany know about this?"

"West? No."

"He deserves to know, _"_ she articulates, and they both know what she really means because Gilbert knows Elizabeta, knows how she knows Ludwig - capabilities and all. It is selfish, but she pleads with him anyway.

_He could fix this._

But Gilbert also knows Ludwig – knows his heart and values and the core of his soul – and he is sure that Germany would, without a shred of hesitation, risk his own demise and set to war with Russia for even an iota of a chance of saving his older brother, the Prussian state.

"No," Prussia commands, crimson eyes steeled and resolute; even in his body's weakened state, his tone is strict and unfaltering.

For he has already lost the war; Germany has fallen before Russia twice before, and Gilbert knows better than to risk putting his dearest brother at the mercy of the scarf-clad man for a third time. The stakes are too high, the price too large; and there is no guarantee that the younger nation, though quite strong, would manage to amass enough power to rival the other and escape such a battle unscathed and away from the looming danger of death.

"There's no point in trying anymore," he says to her, verbalizing his thoughts. "Not for me, at least." The boy is too precious, means too much to him to risk losing; and what kind of brother would he be if he gambled away a life so full of potential for the mere sake of his own, a petty candlewick nearing the end of its limit? There is nothing more of himself to burn; nothing more of himself to give. He's given everything to that country, to the nation he grew to be so proud of, to the child he's raised up all on his own.

It's not just that he only stopped trying.  _You see, my dear,_ Hungary chides herself for having fallen a fool to yet another one of her fanciful whims,  _he also stopped believing._

"You don't have to do this, Gil. You don't have to deal with this on your own."

"I know, but…" he pauses, voice trailing off.

"Then why?"

The sound of an engine hums in the distance; the noise of dripping oil and whirring machinery and spinning wheels and the car parking across the street. The passengers dismount the vehicle, all similar features but mismatched heights, with violet eyes and golden hair and freckled skin. Gilbert turns away from the brunette then, expression softening as the two figures made their way inside their home; hands clasped together, one lanky-limbed and the other stubby-fingered.

"Because," he says, and the quiet of his voice is enough to let her know that he is tired. Exhausted, even.

She follows his gaze, tilting her head to look out the window.

_Ah._

"Because."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wer ist da? – Who's there? [Ger.]
> 
> * From 1933, Prussia lost its independence as a result of the Prussian coup, when the Nazi regime was successfully establishing its "Gleichschaltung" laws in pursuit of a unitary state. With the end of the Nazi regime, the division of Germany into allied-occupation zones and the separation of its territories east of the Oder–Neisse line, which were incorporated into Poland and the Soviet Union, the State of Prussia had ceased de facto to exist in 1945. De jure Prussia existed until its formal liquidation by the Allied Control Council Enactment No. 46 of 25 February 1947. [src: wiki]
> 
> *Concerning wars: WWI, which spanned July 1914 'til November 1918, was where the Allies (based on the Triple Entente of the United Kingdom, France, and Russian Empire) defeated the Central Powers of Germany and Austria-Hungary. "The Russian government collapsed in March 1917, and a subsequent revolution in November brought the Russians to terms with the Central Powers via the Treaty of Brest Litovsk, which constituted a massive German victory until nullified by the 1918 victory of the Western allies. After a stunning Spring 1918 German offensive along the Western Front, the Allies rallied and drove back the Germans in a series of successful offensives. On 4 November 1918, the Austro-Hungarian empire agreed to an armistice, and Germany, which had its own trouble with revolutionaries, agreed to an armistice on 11 November 1918, ending the war in victory for the Allies." In WWII, which spanned September 1939 'til September 1945, the Allied Forces claimed victory over the Axis Powers (I see no reason for me to list down the WWII parties because I'm sure you all know your Hetalia well enough to identify the main player countries in that war lol if you didn't know 'em then why would you even be here in the first place hahaha) [src: wiki]
> 
> *Just saying that the handholding passengers Gil & Liz were admiring earlier were France & Canada :3 I figured they had the best gentle family vibe that would be sweet and heartwarming to watch (imagine Papa!Francis or even BigBrother!Francis with toddler!Matthew awww yay either way it's all good hihihi)
> 
> please leave a review i love em and i love u


	2. Eleventh Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleventh Hour – The Final Time to Act

_Eleventh Hour – The Final Time to Act_

-x-x-

_He remembers there was a door, that split the entranceway and divided it into two paths._

_"_ _Aren't you excited, Gil? It's your first world meeting!"_

_"_ _Sure am, Liz. Lead the way!"_

_Maybe, he thinks, it was a foretelling of their future; that they were never meant to be together, and that they were destined to split up and spend it apart. He took the left and she took the right, and sometimes he wishes he hadn't taken the other way._

_"_ _Everyone calls me 'Hungary' here, so maybe I should start calling you by that name now, too…"_

_"_ _Hm? What? What is it?"_

_Most other times, however, he wonders what would've happened if he didn't take that first step._

_"_ _Prussia."_

-x-x-

Roderich returns home to the sight of puffy eyes and bedraggled hair, pink lips no longer curled up in their usual smiling expression.

"Is there something the matter, Miss Hungary?" he asks, noticing the red flush of her cheeks and the lack of the cerise tulip that used to always rest on her temple.

"No," she replies tersely, gulping yet another glass with a breathy hiccup. The alcohol burns down her throat, though not as much as the bitter sting of the name that lingers on the tip of her tongue. "I'm fine."

But the look in her eyes says otherwise, and Austria knows better than to pry and push the matter further.

"Alright," he says instead, pressing a handkerchief to her palm and letting his hand rest on her shoulder, his touch lingering a minute longer than it should. He presses a kiss to her lips, a chaste brush so warm and honest and brimming full of concern. "Get some rest, Elizabeta."

-x-x-

"You're greying," she tells him then, amazon green eyes ever keen with their observations.

"Really? You can tell?" he jests, combing through his tresses and feigning surprise. "Took you long enough to notice. You're kinda on the slow side, aren't ya? I've had this hair color for centuries, millennia even…"

She rolls her eyes. "Pfsh. Gil, please."

"You're like, how old? Four hundred twenty? A thousand and three? I bet if the world saw your real face, you'd scare the children so badly that the shock would lead them to have hair the same color as mine," he quips, before his eyes soften at the sight before him. "But hey, thanks to your make-up and anti-aging creams and whatever magic you use to hide your flaws, you still don't look like a day over twenty-five to the world, Liz."

"Well, as much as I'd like to say the same for you," Elizabeta stifles a laugh, "I'd have to be honest, Gil; with all that white hair of yours, at most, you don't look like a day over sixty-two to me."

"Hm…I'll take that as a compliment," he says, flashing her a crooked, toothy grin. "Beats being bald, anyway."

-x-x-

We're all living on borrowed words, and (quite possibly, even) borrowed time.

-x-x-

"I wonder if this is what he felt like," Gilbert alludes, "back in 1786."

It's a heavy statement, and Elizabeta feels the overly familiar lump lodging itself at the back of her throat. She knows what it means. She knows what he means.

"I'm sorry-" is all she manages to say, wincing at the pain as she swallowed back the tears before she let them flow.

"Don't be. It was his time," Gilbert says it with a chuckle and the saddest of smiles. "He lived it well."

Elizabeta only watches, pondering over the concept of human lives, the brevity of it all, and why it was so that some people's times were significantly so much shorter than others.

Humans were fragile creatures after all, with bones more brittle than even the needle-thin frameworks of their countries. It came to both parties as no surprise that Prussia outlasted Friedrich – his father, his leader, his king. He was a nation then.

 _But he is a human now,_  Hungary thinks as she worries her lip, skin dry and cracked and white from the pressure, specks of blood drawn at the fissure forged by the sinking of her incisors and front teeth.

"What about you?"

 _How much more do you have left?_  Elizabeta wants to ask, but perish the thought; she shuts it out of her brain before her sentiments escape her and the words slip past her lips and find the time to reach his ears. "Did…did you live yours well?" she says instead.

But Gilbert knows the fear shielded by her words, like a heavy burden weighing down the tone of her voice. He knows her better than anyone else, sixteen centuries and all; has mastered the mechanisms of her mind and the trains of her thoughts and the gears that put all her habits into play.

For Prussia, it is an easy feat to crack her code – to break down the walls of Hungary's carefully built barrier of precautions and anxieties, the artillery of her words, and the armor of her expressions. A simple task – for him, he is sure – to rip off the veil of her poorly acted indifference, tearing it to shreds and exposing Elizabeta's vulnerable form.

He understands her more than anyone else – more than he understands his own self, even.

And he knows that she, too, can do the same for him.

"I..I d-don't–" he stammers, and his answer is enough to break the glass in the mirrors of her green, green eyes.

_I don't have enough._

It is unspoken, but it is still there.

"I'm sorry, Liz."

He doesn't say much else and neither does she, so when his eyes begin to sting and the water rises to a flood and the silence washes over the scatter of their bones, they feel their emotions quell at the quiet of it all. And when his body bends over, almost breaking at her touch, she leans into the embrace, still and without faltering, before their souls crumble and their breaths catch and they both shatter at the mercy of the hands of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Austria x Hungary was made canon in light of post-marriage/post-union stuff; like I meant for them to have that we're-not-lovey-dovey-and-actually-kinda-unstable-but-we'll-make-it-work-maybe-because—there's-some-domestic-love-we've-managed-to-develop-together vibe of arranged marriages and stuff, since they were initially together in a political marriage set-up… but the relationship I intended to display between Prussia & Hungary here was that of a platonic-best-friends-til-the-ends-of-the-earth-kind. If you still prefer to ship them like a regular couple in this fic, though, then go ahead. I won't stop you HAHA
> 
> *The Hungary that we know today began as a principality that was founded in 895. At present (2015), Elizabeta would be 1120 years old. At the set time of their conversational banter, it was still 1947, so Liz would be 1052 IRL but since she's still a country, she'd have the visual appearance of someone in her mid-20s.
> 
> *The allusion made in the final segment of this fic (obviously) referred to Old Fritz's death; he passed away on August 17, 1786. [src: wiki]


End file.
